


Extreme Measures

by clgfanfic



Category: Soldier of Fortune Inc.
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a rework of an episode of Seven Days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extreme Measures

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine A Small Circle of Friends #7 and later in Watch Your Six #5 under the pen name Becca Koldfurr.

**Silver Star Hotel**

**February 2000**

**1730 Hours**

 

          The basement of the Silver Star rang with energetic conversation as the five members of the top secret special operations unit ate dinner around the large wooden table.  For a brief moment Xavier Trout stood on the stairs and listened to the light-hearted banter, wishing he wasn't about to destroy the happy-go-lucky mood.  But finally he sighed heavily and continued down.

          The conversation stopped abruptly when they saw him.

          "Trout," Matt Shepherd greeted, his expression guarded, "don't you ever knock?  You want to join us?"

          The former special forces colonel turned Pentagon spook crossed the basement and stopped near the table.  He gazed at the feast – Italian carryout from the looks of it – and knew it was a meal to celebrate their recent successful operation on Cat Island.[1]

"No, thank you anyway," he said wistfully.  "Matt, can we talk?"

          Shepherd shot him a half-angry scowl over the interruption, but rose and gestured toward his basement office.  The others watched in silence until the two men were inside, then went back to their meal and their conversation, but it was much more subdued than it had been just a few moments earlier.

          "What brings you here?" Matt asked, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against his desk.

          "I have a mission for you," Trout said, finding it hard to meet the former army major's eyes.

          "We just finished a mission," Matt reminded him.  "My people need a little down time.  Things got a little, well, let's just say things got a little _stranger_ than we expected."

          "Yes, I know.  I talked to Dr. Blackmoon," Trout replied.  "But this is important, Matt, and it ca—"

          "Can't wait," Shepherd interrupted, finishing the comment for him.  He sighed and glowered at the man for a moment, but then asked, "What is it?"

          "I need you to go back to Bosnia."

          "What?" Matt snapped, his brow wrinkling with concern.  Their last trip to the Balkan state had been a near-disaster and the last thing he wanted to do was go back and give the Serbs another shot at them.  "You do remember the last time, don't you?  Your intel—"

          "You don't have to remind me," Trout snapped.  "I know my intel wasn't the best, but, as they say, that was then and this is now."

          After a moment, Matt nodded and sighed softly.  "What is it this time?"

          "You know the UN has pledged its support to the new government…"

          Matt nodded.

          "And, as you'd expect, part of that support is financial."

          "Naturally."

          "Naturally," he echoed, pacing in the small space, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his shoulders hunched.  "But, in this particular case, that aid was in the form of a shipment of gold bullion."

          "Don't tell me, someone broke into the bank?"

          "Just as bad – the train.  It was being moved to the capital by rail yesterday, and some breakaway troops still loyal to Milosovich pulled a modern day train hold-up.  Most of them were killed during the robbery, but the handful who survived were able to escape, _with_ the gold.  The good news is, we're almost certain we know where they hid it."

          "Almost?"

          "Nothing in life is a sure bet, Matt.  You know that."

          "And the bad news?"

          "Another squad of breakaway troops are on their way to pick it up… and we think it's hidden in a region that's still something of a no-man's land."

          "Wonderful."

          "We need to get that gold back."

          Matt pushed off his desk and stood, his hands on his hips.  "Then send the I-Four troops in after it.  That's why they're there."

          Trout stopped and turned to face Shepherd.  "I wish it were that easy, Matt, but it's not.  The area they stashed the gold in is a strong Serb enclave.  It wouldn't help the ethnic situation, or the new government, if we marched U.S. troops in there and started tearing up a couple of local churches."

          "Churches?"

          "We think the gold was hidden in one of the few standing Orthodox or Catholic churches in the area.  But we don't know which church for certain, or where inside the building they might have put it."

          "So you want us to go in to a Serb-controlled area and destroy these churches?"

          "We'd prefer it if you didn't destroy anything, but if that's what it takes…"  He shrugged.  "That gold has to reach the hands of the—"

          "Yeah, yeah, I get the picture," Matt interrupted again.  "How much time do we have before the rebel troops will be breathing down our necks?"

          Trout huffed slightly, then said, "We don't know for sure.  They disappeared off the last satellite photos; we don't know where they are at the moment."

          "You don't know?" Matt echoed, then grinned and shook his head.  "This is starting to have a real déjà vu feeling to it, Trout."

          "Matt—"

          Shepherd held up his hand, stopping the man from arguing with him.  "When do we leave?"

          Trout's expression was both grateful and relieved as he dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick envelope.  "Tonight.  I have travel information, a map of the area where the churches are, and the latest intel we have on the location of the breakaway troops.  With luck, we'll have more for you when you get there.  Oh, a CIA analyst I spoke to thought that the local checkpoint guards could probably tell you which church the rebels stopped at, if you can make them talk.  I marked the two possible checkpoints on the map."

          Matt nodded and glanced out his window, knowing that his people were not going to be happy about this one.  He looked back at Trout.  "You better wait and see if they're willing to go along."

          Trout snorted softly and shook his head.  "They'll go wherever you take them, Matt.  I'm not worried."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Enroute to Bosnia**

**2315 Hours**

 

          "I can't believe we're going back to bloody Bosnia," C.J. muttered, shaking his head as he checked his equipment for the third time.

          "Least we're not splittin' up this time," Benny Ray offered, feeling a little more sympathetic toward the Brit than he'd expected when Shepherd told them where their next mission was going to take them.

          Margo nodded her agreement with the sniper.  "Completely different kind of mission, too."

          Chance flashed her a feral grin.  "Too bad.  I was hoping we might cross paths with ol' Vlady again – I owe him."

          Margo's eyes narrowed.  "Sorry, Chance, you'll have to collect in the next life."  The four men all turned to look at her and she blinked, trying to look nonplused.  "What?"

          "What did you do?" Chance asked her.

          "Yeah," Matt agreed, "is this something I need to know about?"

          Margo's eyes rounded innocently.  "Do?  Uh, well, no, nothing you need to know."

          "Come on, Margo," Benny Ray encouraged, "tell us what happened before C.J. here gets started on one of his tall tales."

          "Tall tales?" the Brit echoed, his chest puffing as he prepared to defend himself.

          "All right," she agreed before the argument could get started.  "When we got back, I, uh, made a call…"

          "What kind of call?" Matt asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

          "I just put a buzz in an ear I trust… that Vlady had sold out a Serb general, for a price.  Of course I had a Swiss account number that they could check…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Bosnia, the next day**

**1145 Hours**

 

          Matt pulled the old sedan off the well-used dirt road, driving through a tangle of dried brush growing under the bare branches of a stand of trees.  Their interrogation of the civilian guards at the first checkpoint had turned up nothing on the rebel troops, although they now had the locations of the two churches – if the two men had been telling the truth.  They would know soon enough.

Shepherd parked, he and his four teammates climbing out of the vehicle and moving into the cover offered by the leafless trees, scattered evergreens and dried brush.  They were all dressed like locals, but each operator still wore a protective kevlar vest under their clothes, as well as a combat vest under their tattered coats.  And they all carried silenced HK MP-5s.

They hiked across the rugged landscape for several minutes before Shepherd used hand signals to send Benny Ray and Margo off in one direction, he, Chance and C.J. going another in order to approach the small guard shack built next to the dirt road from two different sides.

Two men in their fifties sat outside the small wooden structure, both hunched over a small makeshift table, playing chess, small rocks replacing several of the pawns.  Their heads bowed, their old rifles leaning against the side of the shack, neither looked like he expected company to come calling, which was just what Shepherd had been hoping for.

"Do not move," Margo snapped in Serbo-Croat, then immediately repeated the order in Russian.

The men's heads snapped up, their eyes rounding with surprise and fear to find themselves looking down the barrels of the MP-5s.

"Stand up," Margo instructed, jerking her weapon to emphasize the seriousness of her command.

The men did as they were told, the less gray of the two asking, "Please, what do you want?"

Margo handed him a map of the area.  "The Orthodox and the Catholic churches, where are they?"

The two men exchanged glances, then the one who had spoken before glanced at the map for a moment before pointing and saying, "The Orthodox here.  The Catholic here."

"The rebel troops who came though here three days ago, which did they visit?" Margo asked next.

The man paled slightly and swallowed.  "Please," he said, "I—"

"Where?" Margo snapped, stepping close enough to press the business end of her MP-5 against the man's chest.

His glaze flickered from Margo's serious expression to his friend and he swallowed hard a second time, his throat gone completely dry.  "I— I do not know what you are talking about."

"Wrong answer," she said, preparing to fire.

"Wait!" the man cried, his hands coming up to plead with her.  "They passed by here twenty minutes ago!"

Margo blinked.  "No, three days ago.  Where did they go three days ago?"  The man hesitated and she poked his chest again, making a show of beginning to squeeze the trigger.

"Wait!" the man cried.  "The Orthodox church.  Three days ago they asked for directions to the Orthodox church!"

"And the men who passed by today, where are they going?"

"I do not know!" the man cried.

Margo's expression was enough to tell Shepherd she wasn't getting what she wanted from the man.  He stepped forward, jabbing the barrel of his own weapon under the second, older man's chin and glowering down at him.  The white-haired man began to shake violently and he looked at his friend, jabbering frantically.

"They are going to the Orthodox church!  Please, do not kill us!  Do not kill us!" Margo heard the older man say.

"How long ago?" Margo snapped.

"I have told you the truth," the first man yelled, still looking at the barrel of the MP-5 pressed tightly against his chest, "twenty minutes ago."

Margo made like she planned to kill the man – and enjoy doing it – asking, "And if we want to reach the church first?"

Knowing she was at a critical moment in the negotiation, Matt shook the man he was holding and he squealed, prompting his friend to say, "On the map, I will show you a way!  I swear it!"

Margo handed him the map again and he pointed out a path, his finger shaking as he traced it.  She nodded and returned the map to her coat pocket.  She jerked her head, indicating that they could go.

Benny Ray and Chance quickly secured the two checkpoint guards, using plastic cuffs, leaving them loose enough they could free themselves eventually.

Back at the sedan, Margo passed along what the men had said, then took out the map and showed Matt the route to get them to the church ahead of the rebel troops.  Shepherd pulled onto the road, speeding off as quickly as he dared over the dirt and rocks.

Moments later the satellite phone C.J. was carrying chirped.  Squeezed between Chance and Benny Ray, it took him a moment to extricate it from his pocket, but once he had he handed it to Margo, who rode in the passenger seat.

"Matt?" Trout asked on the other end.

"He's driving," Margo said.

"I see.  Well, I'm looking at the latest satellite images as we speak.  Some of the rebel troops are in the area."

"Yes, we know," Margo told him.  "We're on our way to the church now.  If our intel is good, we should get there first.  They hid the gold in the Orthodox church, by the way."

"Be careful.  It looks like the advance force has some backup three hours out from your location, and they're moving fast."

"Good to know," Margo replied.  "Hopefully we'll be long gone by the time they get here."

"Good luck, Ms. Vincent.  To all of you."

"Thanks."  The line went dead and she handed the phone back to C.J.  "He wished us luck."

"Let's just hope we don't need it," Chance replied.

"Amen to that," Benny Ray added.

"In Bosnia?" C.J. asked them.  "We'll need all the luck we can get.  Trust me."

"Such an optimist," Matt grinned as he met C.J.'s gaze in the rearview mirror.

"Realist, Major.  Realist."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Near Holy Resurrection Orthodox Church**

**1340 Hours**

 

          Matt parked the old sedan a second time, and they climbed out, spending a few minutes to make sure the vehicle was well-hidden in case they needed to make a quick escape.  Once that was done, Shepherd sent Chance and Benny Ray off to the west while he, Margo and C.J. approached the old church from the east, the two directions that offered the most cover.

          The church had survived the U.S. bombing and local skirmishes, but there was still substantial damage to one section of the building, the roof having collapsed, bowing the walls out.  But the distinctive cross still stood above a small dome, the wood weathered and cracked, but somehow defiant against the gray sky.

          Matt spoke into his lip mike, instructing, "Be careful, people.  If you spot any movement, sing out."

A series of acknowledgments followed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Moving through the brush as quietly as they could, Benny Ray and Chance carefully swept their surroundings, on the lookout for rebels and old booby-traps that might have been left.  As they drew closer to the rear of the church, the sniper raised his fist, signaling to Chance.  Both men crouched down, waiting silently.  A moment later a deer appeared from out of the trees, moving quickly on.

          Chance grinned and moved up next to the sniper.  "Good ears," he said softly.

          Benny Ray shook his head and grinned sheepishly.  "Guess I'm a little more jumpy than I thought."

          "After the last time, you're entitled.  We all are."

          "Roger that, amigo."

          Chance studied the church for a moment, then said, "I think we can split up, move up on two sides, maybe get a closer look at that truck."

          The sniper considered the building and the old transport for a moment, then nodded.  "Good idea.  Something got that deer movin'."  He keyed his lip mike and said, "Major, we're at the rear of the church.  We're moving in for a closer look.  Should be inside in ten."

          "Roger that, Benny Ray," Matt replied.

          The two operators split off, each man disappearing into the brush again.  Benny Ray was almost to the rear of the church when he heard Chance's voice in his ear piece:  "Easy now.  Let's not do anything stupid here."

          The sniper frowned, immediately turning and heading back to find the man.

          "Look, you really don't want to do this," Chance added.

          "Damn," the sniper breathed.  Had Chance run into the rebels?

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chance raised his hands, holding his MP-5 up so it was clear he had no intention of hurting anyone.  Around him, several children stood, holding a collection of old weapons leveled at him.  The youngest looked to be around seven, her rifle almost to heavy to lift.  The oldest was fourteen, maybe.  He smiled at them, saying, "Easy now.  Let's not do anything stupid here."  His words didn't have much of an effect, so he added, "Look, you really don't want to do this."

          The oldest, a boy, stepped forward, asking in broken English, "Who be you?  English?  I-Four?"

"American," Chance said, hoping he wasn't signing his death warrant.  If they were Serb children…

          "USA?" a younger girl asked, her eyes lighting up.  The way the oldest boy looked at her Chance was pretty sure she must be his little sister.

          Chance smiled at her.  "Yeah, USA.  American."

          The boy still didn't look convinced.  "I-Four," he said, reaching up to pat his upper arm, when an I-Four patch would have been sewn onto his uniform.  But Chance wasn't wearing a uniform.

          "Uh," he said, not sure how he was going to explain.

          The boy rattled off something the pilot couldn't understand, but he could guess what it was by the way the kids moved a little closer, their weapons looking more menacing.

          "Don't move!" Benny Ray snapped in Serbo-Croat, stepping out from behind a tree, his MP-5 up and aimed at the boy.

          Chance's eyes rounded with surprise.

          The boy's eyes also widened and he launched into a rapid-fire explanation, but stopped instantly when Benny Ray barked a single word and gestured with his weapon.

          "American spies?" the girl asked in thickly accented English, looking hopeful as she clapped her hands together.

          Chance saw the corners of Benny Ray's lips tighten as he fought to keep from smiling.  The sniper nodded once, saying something to the child the pilot couldn't understand.

          "The gold!" the girl cried and her brother immediately grabbed her, his hand covering her mouth.

          "Gold?" Benny Ray asked in English.

          "Nothing," the boy tried to lie, but the sniper wasn't buying and the teen dipped his head.  "Yes, gold.  In church."

Benny Ray snapped something else at the boy and he responded, saying something to the other children, who lowered their weapons and huddled together, watching the two men with equal parts fear and hope.

The teen looked up at the two operators and said, "In church.  We find gold.  Much gold.  You leave some?  We need.  Very hungry.  Very cold."

"Show me," Benny Ray instructed him.

          As they started for the rear of the church, Chance landed a light slap in the middle of the sniper's back.  "Good timing, Brother Ray, but I didn't know you spoke the local language."

          "I don't, amigo; just a few key phrases I picked up."

          "Well, they came in damned handy."

          Benny Ray shot his friend a grin.  "Yep.  How'd they get the drop on ya anyway?"

          Chance scowled.  "They didn't get the drop on me."

          "Funny, sure looked that way t' me," the sniper teased.

          "You let that happen, didn't you," the pilot accused, his eyes narrowing, but he was grinning.

          Benny Ray blinked innocently.  "Let you be taken hostage?  The hell I did.  Heard it happen on the comm; came t' see what was goin' on."

          Chance didn't look too convinced, but he shook his head and smiled.  "Hell if I know how they did it."

          "Don't worry 'bout it," Benny Ray told him.  "Happened t' me twice when I was stationed here.  They're like damned ghosts."

          "Think they really found the gold?"

          The sniper nodded.  "If they said they did, they did.  Question is, who else is with 'em."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Holy Resurrection Orthodox Church**

**1400 hours**

 

          Matt, Margo and C.J. silently eased into the dimly lit church, then froze, their weapons coming up defensively.  Inside the undamaged portion of the small structure were several old men and a few more old women, all huddled together on the few pews that remained unbroken.  Seeing the operators enter, they crowded closer together, the some of the women covering their faces with their hands and beginning to pray softly.

          "C.J., keep watch outside," Matt said softly, his gaze darting over the people, watching for any signs of aggression.

          The Brit nodded and slipped back outside with a last look back.

          "Who are you?" Margo asked them in Serbo-Croat.

          One of the old men stood and shuffled over to them, his head held high.  There was a defiant set to his shoulders, but plenty of fear in his eyes.  "Please, we only stopped to rest.  We are old, and tired.  We have done nothing.  The church was like this when we arrived."

          "Where are you going?" Margo asked.

          He hesitated, studying the pair for a long moment as he decided how far he could trust them.  "We are trying to find the Americans, the I-Four," he admitted.  "We are refugees.  We wish to return to our homes.  Please, do not kill us, we will not interfere with whatever it is you are here to do.  I swear it."

          "Are you Serbian?" Margo asked, knowing they weren't when she saw the old man pale slightly.

          He swallowed, his gaze shifting to one of the women, then back to Margo.  "No," was all he said.

          Margo smiled reassuringly at him.  "It's all right," she told him, then raised her voice so she could speak to all of them.  "Everything is fine.  We won't hurt you.  We are Americans."

          The small crowd stirred, beginning to speaking softly among themselves.

          "Americans?" the old man asked, sitting down as if his legs could no longer hold him.  Then he paled again.  "You came for the gold."

          "Yes," she admitted, "but we will take you to an I-Four camp.  They will make sure you are resettled."

          The old man looked up at her, his eyes filling with unshed tears.  "You will help us?"

          She nodded and reached out to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.  Then, turning, she told Matt who they were.

          Shepherd sighed heavily and started to speak, but Margo interrupted.

"Matt, we can't leave them here.  When the Serb troops arrive—"

"Yeah, I know – they'll be executed.  But we don't have any way to move all these people."  He glanced around and sighed again.  "First things first.  Ask them if they know where the gold is."

Margo asked and they were reluctantly led to the back of the sanctuary where three boxes sat, all opened.  Inside each, bars of gold glittered in the pale candlelight.

There was a slight commotion and the two operators raised their weapons only to find Benny Ray and Chance joining then, along with seven young children who quickly scattered to join the older men and women, who gathered them close.

"What—?" Shepherd began.

"Their parents were killed or taken away.  The kids and their grandparents were driven out of their homes, but they're trying to go back," Benny Ray explained, then shot a quick look at Chance.  "We, uh, found 'em out in the woods."

"They said the gold was here," Chance added.

Matt nodded.  "Yeah, we found it."

C.J. stepped into the church, calling, "Major, I've got movement in the trees."

"Damn," Shepherd breathed.  "Okay, listen up, we need to get these people out of here – now."

"Sir, there's an old transport truck sitting out behind the church.  Probably how they all got here," Chance said.  "If it won't start, they might be able to hide until–"

"Go," Matt barked.  "Benny Ray, you're with C.J. in the front.  Hold them off so we can get these folks out of here."  He turned.  "Margo, you stay with these people, keep them calm and moving.  Ask those who can to help us with the gold."

Margo nodded, turning immediately to the people, passing along their plans.  All of the old men, along with the oldest of the boys, headed for the crates of gold, followed by the women and girls, all of them helping Matt and Chance to move the gold out to the old truck.

Once the gold and the people were loaded into the back of the transport along with Margo, who covered them, her MP-5 at the ready, Chance climbed in behind the wheel, keeping watch while he tried to start the engine.  Matt stood next to the cab, his own MP-5 up as he scanned the trees and brush, watching for movement.

Much to their surprise and relief, the truck started up immediately, even if it ran with a constant rough sputter that warned them they weren't going to get very far in the old vehicle.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          At the front of the church, Benny Ray and C.J. waited in silence until the approaching rebel fighters moved out into the open to cross from the trees to the church, then they opened fire, dropping five of the eight men in the first exchange.  The last three scattered, diving for whatever cover they could find.

          "Five down, three on the loose," the sniper said into his lip mike.

          "Find them, but be quick, we don't want to be here when the reinforcements arrive," Matt instructed.

          "Roger that, sir," Benny Ray replied.  Without looking at C.J. he said, "I'll go right."

          C.J. nodded, saying, "Leaves the left for me," even as he moved forward.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A few moments later Matt spotted movement and fired.  A man cried out, then fell out of the bushes.

          "Cover me," Shepherd said, hurrying over to make sure the rebel was alone, and dead, then sprinted back to the truck.

          "One tango down," he announced into the lip mike.

          "One here, too," Benny Ray's voice immediately replied.

          "Number three down, but I'm hit," C.J.'s voice said next, sounding tight and over-controlled.

          "Damn it," Matt said.  "Benny Ray, go get him."

          "Already on the way, Major."

          Shepherd looked up at Chance, the two men exchanging worried glances.  Those expressions almost turned to panic when they heard the first in-coming mortar a moment before it exploded near the truck.

          "Back it up!  Back it up!" Matt yelled at Chance, jumping up onto the step and holding onto the large rearview mirror.

          The pilot forced the gear into reverse, the truck lumbering back until it collided with the side of the building, breaking through the wall and ending up inside the church.  The refuges climbed out, moving back to the pews, where they cowered, the children hugged tightly between the adults.

          A second mortar exploded near the building, sending plaster raining down on them.

          "Come on!" Matt yelled, he and Chance bolting for the rear door, diving inside the church a moment before a third explosion almost struck the building.  The explosion cracked off large sections of plaster from the walls and ceiling, filling the air with a choking dust.

          Benny Ray and C.J. were already there, the sniper pressing a piece of wadded up cloth against the Brit's shoulder while C.J. grimaced, his feet jerking uncontrollably from the pain.

          "How is he?" Matt asked.

          "Can't tell," Benny Ray said.  "Helluva lotta blood."

          "Looks like their reinforcements got here a little sooner than Trout expected," Margo commented dryly, blinking to clear her eyes, which were watering from the dust.

          Matt nodded grimly.  "And with that mortar, we're not going to be able to drive out of here."

          "We can't stay here, either," Chance added.  "They'll walk 'em right in on us."

          The old man who had spoken to Margo earlier shuffled over to join them.  "Excuse me," he said in heavily accented English.

          "You speak English?" Matt asked, surprised.

          The old man nodded sadly.  "Boston College, 1940.  I was trained as a physician.  Perhaps I can help your man?"

          "Please, anything you can do," Matt agreed, then watched Margo as she frowned, then turned slowly, her gaze taking in all the contours of the church.  "What?" he asked her.

          She hesitated, then shook her head, saying, "I don't know.  It's a long shot."

"Margo," he snapped, willing to take a chance.

"Some of these old churches had tunnels that ran out into the woods.  They were built so the people could escape if the Germans came for them during World War II."

          "Tunnels?" Shepherd asked skeptically, then ducked when another mortar landed close by, shaking the building.

          "Like I said, it's a long shot, but this building's at least that old," she said.  "It's worth looking for, right?"

          "Go," he said.

The old man took Benny Ray's place next to C.J., and the sniper offered him a grateful smile before moving to stand at one of the many broken windows, watching to see if the rebels would dare to come in, or if they planned to bomb the church first, then comb through the rubble and bodies for the gold.

Matt and Chance took up positions at two of the other windows, also keeping watch.

          Margo called the people together and spoke quickly to them.  Moments later they were spread throughout the church, each tapping on the walls.  A few moments later a little girl rushed to Margo's side and grabbed her coat, tugging for her to follow her, saying, "Come, come!"

          Margo rapped her knuckles against the section of wall the child led her to, smiling when she heard the hollow sound.  "Matt!  I think we have something!"

Using a piece of a broken pew, she swung the wood hard against the plaster wall, punching a hole into the surface.  A little more work and she called out, "We found it!"

          Matt glanced over at the old man working over C.J., who was moaning softly, his legs still twitching, then back at her.  "Margo, take these people and the gold and get out of here."

          "But–" she started to argue.

          "We'll be right behind you," Shepherd promised.

          Margo nodded and immediately set about getting the refuges moving.

          Matt crossed to the old man and stood behind him, watching as he tried to stem the bleeding from the Brit's shoulder.  "How is he?"

          "No exit wound.  The bullet nicked an artery.  If you move him, it may kill him."

          "We can't stay here," Matt said.  "Those troops are going to be here soon, or they're going to bring this building down on top of us."

          "The bullet must come out before he can be moved," the physician insisted.

          Shepherd's lips pressed into a thin line of worry, but he had no choice but to trust the old man.  He was, after all, a doctor.  Or so he said.  "Chance, Benny Ray, go with Margo," Matt said.  "We'll be along in a few minutes."

          "Don't think that's a good idea, sir," Benny Ray said.  "We can help ya more if we can get up on the roof.  If they come to get the gold, we can hold them off a while."

          Chance nodded his agreement.

          "All right," Matt agreed with a sigh.  "But if they launch another mortar, you both get back down here on the double, understand?"

          The two men nodded, then left to find a way up to the roof.

          Matt turned, watching as the old man opened the bundle he carried tied to his back and removed a half-full bottle of clear liquid.  He handed it to Shepherd.  "Get him to drink; it will make easier to get bullet out."

          "No," C.J. croaked, his head rolling from side to side, the whites of his eyes showing.

          Matt looked at the old man and shook his head.  "He can't."

          The man's brow furrowed.  "Listen to me," he said, his frustration making his accent thicker, but his English better, "the bullet is pressing on an artery.  I can reach it with forceps, but if he moves, or my old hands slip, and I am not so young now, I might sever the artery, or the bullet might become lost in the soft tissue. . ."  he shook his head.  "Get him drunk.  Hurry, or he will bleed to death while we argue."

          Matt hesitated for a moment, then unscrewed the cap and held the bottle out to C.J.

          "I can't," the Brit gasped.  "Matt, for—"

          "I can't risk your life," Shepherd said, feeling his stomach ball into a tight fist of worry and loathing.

          "You know what'll happen," C.J. gasped as the old man put more pressure on the wound, still trying to stem the bleeding.

          "Damn it, C.J.," Shepherd snapped, "you beat it once, you can do it again.  We'll be there for you, I swear it.  But it beats being dead."

          "Not so sure," the Brit groaned.  "Gotta be… another way."

          "Drink," Matt commanded.  "That's an order."

          C.J.'s eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else there, too, and Matt recognized what it was: want, desire.  For a moment he almost changed his mind, but the spreading stain on the cloth cemented his resolution.

          His hand trembling, C.J. reached out and took the bottle from Shepherd's hand, lifting it to his lips.  He paused, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, then tried to force himself to take a swallow, his hand shaking more with the effort.  Some of the liquid splashed onto his chin.

"I can't," he told Matt, thrusting the bottle out to him.  "I can't."

Shepherd took it and studied the man for a moment.  Then he pushed the old man aside and straddled the Brit, pinning his arms down with his knees.  C.J. bucked his hips, trying to throw Matt off, but he was too weak.

Shepherd pinched C.J.'s nose closed, forcing his mouth to open.

"Major!" he bellowed, but the major was already pouring the alcohol into his open mouth.

C.J. choked and coughed.  "Bloody hell," he gasped.  "What _is_ that stuff?"

          "I make myself," the old man said, almost proudly.  "Vodka."

          "Drink it," Matt ordered, climbing off and shoving the bottle back into the Brit's hand.

          C.J. licked his lips, savoring the taste and the warmth that was already spreading through his body.  He glanced at the bottle, then lifted the drink, closed his eyes again and began sucking down large swallows of the powerful liquor.

          Unable to watch, Matt turned away, feeling sick to his stomach.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Several minutes later C.J. sat with his back pressed up against a wall while the old man worked to remove the bullet from his shoulder.  The mortars had been still for several minutes, and Matt paced nervously, waiting for the attack to begin.  He keyed his lip mike, asking, "Anything?"

          "Nothing," Chance replied.  "How's he doing?"

          "Doc's working on him right now," Matt replied.

C.J. watched the old man, his eyes bright from the alcohol, a silly grin splitting his face.  "That hurts, ya know," he slurred.  "Hurts like bloody fury."

"I am close," the old man assured.

"Reminds me of the time I saw—"

"C.J.," Matt snapped.

The Brit looked over, but it was clear his eyes weren't focused on Shepherd.  He grinned widely and launched into a fully bellowed version of a ribald drinking song.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

On the roof, Chance and Benny Ray exchanged looks.

"What the hell?" Chance asked.

The sniper shook his head.  "Sounds like he ain't feeling any pain."

Chance swallowed hard.  "Do you think they—?"

"Sure as hell sounds like it."

"Oh, man," was the pilot's reply.

The two men fell silent as the last lines of the song came to an end.

          "Ah, I have found the bullet," the old man said triumphantly.

          "Bad bullet!" C.J. chastised.  "Blood sod.  Mr. Bullet, hurting C.J. like that, what did I ever do to you… bloody plonker…"  He giggled, then almost sobbed.

          The old man leaned back, the bullet held in his forceps.

          C.J. peered intently at it.  "Couldn't've done it better meself," he pronounced.

          The physician looked up at Shepherd.  "I will sew him up while he is still drunk."

          Matt nodded.

          Turning back, he prepared a needle and thread, then moved back to C.J.'s side.

          "Ah, Mr. Needle," C.J. said.  "Do you know Mr. Bullet?"

          Matt shook his head, glad it was over.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Margo heard excited voices and hurried ahead to see what was happening.  They had found a door.  "Careful," she said, pushing her way through the collected people.  "I will look first.  It might be booby-trapped."

          The people immediately stepped back, making room for her.

She stepped forward, hoping there were no traps.  After examining the door, she reached out, the knob turning under her hand, opening.

          Gunfire immediately erupted in the dirt just in front of the door and Margo instinctively jerked back, yanking the door closed.  The refugees quickly moved to either side of the passage, pulling the children in close to protect them.

          "I know you can hear me," a man called in Russian from outside.  "You have thirty minutes to leave the gold and go, or we will kill all of you."

          Margo cursed softly under her breath.

          "Major Danovich," one of the old women told her softly.  "He is a barbarian.  He killed many men, raped many women.  He will do exactly what he promises.  Beast."

          Margo sighed softly, then looked up, her MP-5 coming up when she heard sounds coming up behind them in the passage.

          "Just us," called a familiar voice.

          "Chance," she greeted, moving back to where he and the old man supported C.J. between them.  Stopping short, her nose wrinkled.  "What—?"

          "Vodka," Chance explained.  "Anesthesia."

          Margo shook her head, a lump forming in the pit of her stomach.  Then she forced her gaze away, asking, "Where are Matt and Benny Ray?"

"Topside."

She keyed her mike, saying, "Matt, we're pinned down here.  The rebels are outside," she told him.  "We have a half-hour to leave the gold and go."

          "Roger that," came Shepherd's reply.  "We'll come up behind them.  Be ready."

          "Roger," she said.

          "Hey, let go a' me," C.J. growled, struggling weakly in the men's grip.

          "Come on, easy," Chance soothed, helping C.J. over to the wall and easing him down next to one of the crates, which was now almost empty, the refugees each carrying a few of the bars each.  "Keep that up, you're going to tear those stitches out."

C.J. glowered up at Chance, but didn't say anything.

"You just stay there," the pilot instructed.

The Brit _hrumphed_ , but then the gold caught his attention and he reached into the box, caressing the few remaining bars, a wistful expression on his face.

          "Don't get too attached," Chance warned him.

          C.J. looked up, this time a grin on his face.  "Chance, my good man, I 'ave a question."

          "Shoot."

          The Brit frowned.  "Not funny, mate."

          "Sorry.  What's the question?"

          C.J. thought for a moment, then shook his head.  "Bloody hell, I can't remember!"

          Chance patted the man's good shoulder.  "It's okay.  You'll remember later.  But right now?  I want you to stay put.  We don't want you to start bleeding again."

          C.J. nodded, then licked his lips and asked, "Is there any more of that vodka?"

          "Afraid not," Chance replied, a chill sliding down his back.

          The Brit lapsed into annoyed silence.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Our time's almost up," Margo said softly after checking her watch.  She and Chance stood near the door, which was cracked open a few inches so they could see outside.

          "Given them a few more minutes," the pilot told her, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

          "I'm not sure we have a few more."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "You, in the tunnel.  We want our gold.  Bring it out and you will be allowed to leave, unharmed."

          "Yeah, right," Chance said softly.  "Bet he sells used cars, too."

          "Come on, Matt," Margo said softly.

          The barrage of gunfire started and Margo and Chance returned fire.  They were joined by several of the old men, who took turns stepping up to help them, their old rifles booming loudly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Matt and Benny Ray heard the attack begin and picked up speed, rushing toward the rebels' location.  A moment later they came up behind the twelve men spread out along the top of a rise that looked down on a hillside into which was set an old weather-bleached door.

          "Hey!" Matt called, he and Benny Ray immediately opening fire as the men broke off and began to turn.

          A few of the men managed to scamper into the trees, Benny Ray going after them.  Shots rang out for the next several minutes, but when the sniper returned he was grinning.

"Got 'em all."

Matt radioed Margo and Chance, saying, "We have the high ground.  It's over."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Holy Resurrection Orthodox Church**

**The Next Day, 0800 hours**

 

          Matt shook the old physician's hand.  "We appreciate your help with our man."

          "He will need more care, but he will live."  He dipped his head and shook it sadly.  "He may not thank you for that, however."

          Shepherd nodded.  "Yeah, I know.  We'll take it one day at a time.  He'll be fine."

          The old man nodded.  "That is all any of us can do.  We go now, to begin new lives, our children dead, our grandchildren to care for."

          "One day at a time," Matt said, his voice softened with sympathy for their plight.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out one of the gold bars and handed it to the man.  "You're going to have a lot of rebuilding to do.  One of these for each family should make it a little easier."

          The man's eyes rounded and filled with grateful tears.  "You do not have to do this."

          "I know, but this gold is going to the new government.  I'm sure the UN or the US will make up whatever was… lost during the robbery."

          The old man nodded and wiped his eyes.  He reached out, patting Shepherd's shoulder.  "You are a good man."

          Matt shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise.  "I'll leave that call in hands greater than mine."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**I-Four Field Hospital**

**1330 hours**

 

          C.J. lay in a narrow bed, his shoulder wrapped with a thick dressing, his arm immobilized against his chest.  His expression was sallow, his gaze turned inward as the rest of the team approached.

          "Hey, how're you feeling?" Chance asked, taking a seat in the empty chair sitting next to the man's bed.

          The Brit blinked, looking a little surprised.  Then he smiled tiredly and asked, "What?"

"How are you feeling?" Matt said, repeating Chance's question.

"Fine.  Fixed me right up.  I'm good to go."

          "Not so fast," Matt told him, holding up his hands to keep the man from trying to climb out of his bed.  "The doctor wants you to rest until tomorrow.  We'll fly home then, so you just stay put and do what they tell you."

          C.J. nodded.  "Yeah.  Okay.  Sounds good."  His expression turned inward again.

          The others all frowned, but no one said anything.

          "Get some sleep," Matt said, turning to go.

          "I'll stay for a while," Chance said, leaning back in his chair.

          Shepherd nodded.  "We'll come back, spell you after we grab a bite."

The pilot nodded, already studying his friend, a concerned expression on his face.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Silver Star Hotel**

**Hermosa Beach, CA**

**Two Days Later, 1020 hours**

 

          Trout found Matt in his basement office.  "Welcome home," he said, stepping in to join the man and closing the door behind him.  "Good job, Matt."

          Shepherd looked up, but he didn't smile.

          Trout crossed to the small couch and sat down, setting the small metal briefcase he carried down next to him.  "But did you have to give away half the treasury?"

          That brought a small smile to Shepherd's lips.  "It wasn't even close to half, Trout."

          "It was enough to raise more than a few eyebrows," Trout countered.  "I had to do a helluva lot of explaining."

          "Keeps you in practice."

          "Ah," Trout replied, nodding slowly.  "So that was your plan, was it?"

          "No, we just wanted to help some people who needed it.  Think of it as an investment in the rebuilding process."

          "$750,000 is a powerful amount of help."

          "Without that old man's help C.J. would be dead."

          Trout nodded.  "I'm sorry about that," he said.  "How's he doing?"

          "I'm not sure," Matt admitted.  "He's been pretty quiet since we got back."

          "Is someone watching him?"

          Shepherd nodded.

          "He's strong, Matt.  He'll get through this."

          "I hope so."

          "He did before."

          "Yeah," Matt agreed.  But he also knew what it had cost the man.

          Trout stood and carried the briefcase over, playing in on the desktop in front of Matt.  "It doesn't seem like enough now, but…"

          Shepherd looked up at Trout.  "I want whatever treatment he needs covered.  In full."

          "Consider it done," the older man said.

          Shepherd nodded, knowing he wasn't really mad at Trout.  He sighed heavily and tossed his pen down.  "I didn't want to do it, but there wasn't any option."

          "Matt, you did what you had to.  He knows that."

          "Does he?"  Shepherd stood and walked around his desk.  "He has every right to—"

          "Matt, don't borrow trouble.  Wait and see what happens.  Just let me know what you need."

          Shepherd nodded.  "Yeah.  Thanks."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Silver Star**

## Later That Day

 

          Chance stood at the heavy bodybag, raining a series of kicks and punches on it that threatened to tear it from where it was anchored in the ceiling.

          Margo and Benny Ray sat across from one another at the large wooden table, arguing the merits of a new Bulgarian rifle.  C.J. watched and listened from where he lay on the sofa, grinning as the sniper painted a particularly colorful analogy about the sensitivity of the new weapon's trigger pull.

          Margo rolled her eyes and grabbed Benny Ray's bottle of beer, taking a long swing before setting it back down and walking away.

          The Brit, felt his heart begin to beat faster and he licked his lips, staring at the bottle, watching the condensation roll down the sides…

  


* * *

[1] See, "Sacrifice of the White Goat"

 


End file.
